Farmerettes (23 page)

“Probably not,” Jean replied.

“Oh, a romance,” said Peggy. “What's it about?”

“The American Civil War, but enough about battles. Who's reading something cheerful?” asked Jean.

“An article about Roy Rogers. He's so dreamy, and Trigger is such a smart horse,” said Peggy, holding up her
Life
magazine.

Binxie grinned. “A flight manual. Fascinating plot.”

Isabel whispered, “I can't concentrate on reading anymore.”

“I'm out of books,” said Helene. “I can't get to the library until Saturday. Dan's taking me. But I need something now. Last night, I was so desperate I read our farmerette handbook.”

Jean knew that feeling. “You've gone through almost every book I own, unless you want to read an atlas.”

Helene smiled. “Maybe another time.”

Jean hesitated. “I have one other book…
Sonnets from the Portuguese
.” She caught Binxie's slight movement of surprise. “Are you interested?”

“Poetry! Yes.”

“Follow me to the house after, and I'll give it to you.”

“I'd like to read that too, sometime,” Binxie said quietly.

“Oh—” Jean began.

But Isabel softly recited, “‘How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.' Billy once read that to me.”

They all needed a distraction. Jean took a deep breath and provided it. “My book belonged to Polly. James gave it to her.”

Peggy and Helene sat up, stared at Jean, eager for more information. Binxie said what they all wondered. “You've found out more?”

Jean shook her head. “Only that neither James Earnshaw nor any other Earnshaw ever lived around here. He must have been passing through, visiting.”

“Maybe he was stationed at the air base,” said Isabel.

“It wasn't there in the Great War,” said Jean.

“James is a dead end.” Peggy sighed. “If only there were some giant telephone directory where we could just look him up. It's the same with Polly. I've quizzed everyone about all the Pollys around here, but none of them fits. How do two people just disappear like that?”

“We're back to Nelly. Can we find that cousin in Philadelphia she visited?” Binxie suggested.

“Even if someone knew her name and address, and even if she still lived there, what would we write? ‘You don't know me, but did your cousin have a baby a quarter century ago?' Not likely,” said Jean.

“Then what's next?” Binxie asked cautiously.

Jean smiled at her. “It's okay. It's going to take all of us to solve this.”

“Where did you find the first clue?” asked Helene.

“In Nelly's house,” answered Peggy.

“Then that's where we need to go for our next clue,” said Helene.

“Actually, that's where we discovered our second one too,” said Binxie. “The poetry book.”

“This weekend…” Jean spoke louder as the sound of a car coming down the lane dulled her words. “…let's go to Nelly's. We can say we're cleaning the house, getting it ready for Rob. It needs to be done anyway.”

A car door slammed nearby and a cheery Australian voice shouted, “Hallo! Anybody here?”

Several other farmerettes answered him as they appeared from various directions. Hugh's charm and dark good looks were irresistible.

“Is Jean here?”

She couldn't help it—her heart actually fluttered.

The five girls stood up and approached Hugh.

“You're still here, soldier?” teased Binxie.

“Navigator. Air force. Not for long. We get orders next week.”

A chill stabbed Jean's spine like a bayonet. How many more people could she stand to worry about? Especially this one, with his blue, blue eyes and saucy grin, eagerly regarding her.

“Care to step into my coach and ride to the lake to watch the sunset, m'lady?” He bowed and swept his arm toward his dusty jeep.

“How did you get that jeep?”

Hugh winked.

“If I drive with you, is some MP going to arrest us for stealing it?” Jean tried to sound severe, but she couldn't help smiling.

Hugh looked wounded. “I do like your loving ways. But, this is legit. My flight officer owes me a favor. Coming?” He opened the passenger door.

“Helene, if you want that book, go to the house and ask Dad to give it to you.” Jean stepped into the jeep. As Hugh circled to the driver's side, a truck chugged into the yard.
This place is becoming a highway,
she thought, and turned to see Johnny.

She stiffened as he climbed from his truck. Why did people drop in without warning?

As Johnny crossed the yard, he noticed Hugh and Jean in the car. He paused a second, then waved at her as cheerfully as always. Jean waved back and watched him continue walking toward Binxie.

Hugh hopped into the jeep, started the engine, and steered down the lane. Behind them, Jean saw Binxie and Johnny climb into his truck.

Hugh chatted while Jean wondered—
did Johnny come to visit me or Binxie?
If he had come first, for her, which boy would she have chosen?

Isabel

Isabel watched the vehicles carrying the two couples down the road, twisted her ring, and sighed. She had so loved being half of the golden pair in Guelph. She and Billy had done almost everything together. But Billy was gone. Twice gone. Had he lived, he would have shared his life with Norah and their child.

She gazed at her ring, once so full of promise. She touched its hard, sharp surface. Was it foolish to still wear it? No. It had been put on her finger with love and hope. She couldn't forget that day, the joy in Billy's brown eyes. She'd try to forget his betrayal—it was this stupid war's fault—and remember only their love. His ring was the only connection she still had with him, and she would treasure it for the rest of her life.

Isabel felt Peggy touch her arm. “Let's go in and play cards. I have a new Perry Como record to listen to.”

Isabel was glad to be back. The girls were concerned but not smothering. At home one more careful word, one more look of sympathy would have driven her crazy. She hated being dishonest with her friends, acting as if Billy had been faithful, but she couldn't bear to tell them of his betrayal, her shame.

Helpless Itsy didn't exist here. She had worked hard to learn how to bake in Nanny's kitchen. So many girls welcomed her back, told her how much they missed her and her meals. Cookie yelled at her for peeling too much skin off the potatoes yesterday, and for spilling flour this morning. It felt good.

“Can the cards wait a minute?” asked Helene. “I want to fetch that book first.”

“Sure. I'll check if my clothes are dry,” said Peggy.

“I'll come with you,” Isabel told Helene. “I haven't said hello to Nanny yet.”

The two walked to the farmhouse while Peggy headed for the clothesline.

“Can we go this way?” Isabel pointed at the route farthest from the chicken area. Cracker had already welcomed her back yesterday, flapping his wings at her, screeching hideously until Gus drove him away with a shovel.

Mr. McDonnell invited them in. “Jean's out and Mrs. McDonnell and my mother are at their ladies' group, knitting for the boys. You'll do a better job finding that book than I will. It's likely in the parlor.”

They found it easily, and said good-bye.

“We sure were sorry to hear about your young man,” said Mr. McDonnell at the door. “Too much of that has happened around here already. Such a waste.” He shook his head.

“Thank you.” Isabel clenched her face into a smile.

“Nanny's looking forward to continuing the baking lessons.”

From the corner of her eye, Isabel caught Helene's quick glance her way. But she knew her secret was safe with Helene.

“Well, goodnight, girls. Hope you enjoy the book.”

As they crossed the farmyard, they saw Peggy waiting for them outside the dorm. She was still nervous about facing the others alone.

It dawned on Isabel that she wasn't the only one hurting. Peggy had lost some of her spontaneous sense of fun. Jean's family worried about Rob; Mr. McDonnell would never completely recover from his heart attack. The Grants had lost two nephews at Dieppe. Binxie and most of the girls here prayed every day for someone fighting overseas. What would they say if they knew how Billy had really died?

Jean

Jean strolled beside Hugh, intensely aware of everything about him—his masculine scent of soap and spicy aftershave, that flashing smile, his way of guiding her over rough spots along the beach. The setting sun reflected in the lake might have been beautiful to see, but she noticed only his blue eyes intent upon her. He was an excellent listener as they compared stories about their lives.

“Then there's Cracker, the nastiest rooster in the land,” she said. “We got him after our last rooster, a gentle old fellow, was taken by a hawk. Nothing would dare tangle with Cracker. He actually lies in wait for victims. Once he's terrified them into running, he jumps up and catapults himself at them, so his spurs can take a chunk from their leg.”

Hugh replied, “He must be related to a cat we once had. Slashed whatever annoyed her, man or beast. Scared us all.”

Jean talked about Rob. He spoke about his three sisters and young brother with such affection she wondered how she could ever have thought him a dandy.

She could have listened all night to his descriptions of life on their sheep station in Australia, the animals, the plants, with his irreverent wit and Aussie accent. “Australia,” she sighed. “It sounds so exciting, so beautiful.”

He took her hand to help her over a fallen log, and she let him, even though she'd hopped over logs all her life. She was so aware of her hand still in his that the lake could have disappeared and she wouldn't have noticed.

But Hugh stopped to gaze at the rose-tinted heaven above, then at the golden fields behind them.

Jean smiled. “Not as exotic as Australia, but it is lovely.”

Hugh faced her. “Beauty around me, beauty in front of me.”

“Now, that's corny,” said Jean, embarrassed.

“But true.” Hugh touched her cheek. She lifted her face and his lips met hers, the first touch electric, then delicious. They wrapped their arms around each other and kept kissing. Her mouth, her arms, her entire body wanted him—to stay connected, desired and desiring, intensely alive. They kissed for a minute, an hour, a day—she had no idea how long, but she wanted it to go on forever.

He stopped, leaned back, and regarded her with warm indigo eyes. “We better go before it's too dark to see,” he said reluctantly.

Hand in hand, they retraced their steps. She had always assumed her first kiss would be with Johnny, though none of her dreams had warned her how amazing a kiss really is.

Hugh squeezed her hand and said something funny, and all her thoughts flashed back to him like a magnet.

At the jeep, they kissed again for a long wonderful moment before they turned into the laneway at Highberry Farm. Jean would have stayed there all night, but Hugh put the car back into gear.

“I have to have the jeep back by midnight.”

“Oh.”

“You look disappointed,” he said with a broad smile, and reached for her again. Finally, reluctantly he let her go and continued driving to the house.

The yard was deserted as Hugh opened the car door for her. A quick peck on the cheek, the promise of more, then he sped away.

Not ready for sleep, Jean sat on the front porch swing. The warm night embraced her as she savored the memory of the evening, waiting for her heart and mind to slow down. Both the moon and stars hid behind clouds, leaving the night velvety black, but she was sure the glow she felt inside could light up the whole farm.

Just as she considered going to bed, she heard the truck squelching up the driveway. It parked in front of the dorm. No one could see her here on the dark porch. She watched Binxie and Johnny climb out and kiss goodnight. Knowing how she had felt with Hugh earlier, Jean wanted her friends to be happy too. So why was she shifting uncomfortably in her seat?

Heartaches and Waterfalls

Saturday, August 7, 1943

Peggy

Peggy straightened the newspaper, but before she could hang it back onto its dowel, a young farmer took it from her. The little library was full of people looking for the latest reports from the front.

He skimmed the headlines and whistled softly. “Good news, eh?”

Peggy nodded. The articles were jubilant—Soviet forces had recently repulsed the German army near Kursk. It was the first battle in which a b
litzkrieg
was defeated before it could break through enemy defenses.

Operation Gomorrah had just destroyed Hamburg, city of many industries,
oil refineries
,
shipyards,
and
U-boat pens
. The bombs created the greatest firestorm in history, a 1,500-foot-high tornado of fire that incinerated German armament production. It also killed thousands of civilians. The Battle of the Ruhr had begun—British bombers conducted night bombings over Germany, and American squadrons flew daylight attacks.

Let that end this horrible war,
Peggy prayed.
Let the Allies win fast and let this killing stop.
She thought again of Michael and Donny, both determined to fight for their country, leaving their families broken with grief, of Billy snuffed out before he and Isabel could begin their life together.

She even felt bad for Harry Rayner, about to join it all. He'd been at Romeo's last night, the first time she'd had the courage to go there again. He arrived looking taller, more important in his smartly pressed brown uniform. “I leave for Camp Borden in the morning,” he announced.

The girls flocked around him with admiration and good wishes. He managed a dance with most of them, but as the evening neared its end, he and Stella clutched each other ever more tightly on the dance floor, then slipped outside for air. On his way out, he'd told Peggy, “I'll show your buddies what we do to Nazis.”

She turned her back on him, relieved when another fellow pulled her away to dance.

“Don't mind him,” he said. “We all know you're not one of those people.”

Peggy had smiled at him gratefully; he meant well.

Now Peggy reached for a
Ladies' Home Journal
. She tried to read, but couldn't concentrate, and was relieved when Helene finally checked out her books.

“Ready for ice cream? The others should be there by now. Dan's joining us.”

Peggy smiled at her friend. Lately Helene had a radiance about her. Her quiet competence now included more confidence. Jean, Binxie, Doris, and Ruth had each coupled up too. Funny, she'd always thought Jean and Johnny belonged together, but Hugh was a sweetheart, and this war changed the paths of so many lives.

Isabel followed them outside, clutching a bulky cookbook.

“Another glorious, sunny day,” said Helene.

“All the more glorious because we're not picking anything,” answered Peggy.

“I just found some wonderful recipes,” said Isabel. “I think I'll try a trifle for Binxie's birthday on Thursday.”

“Mmm, delicious,” Helene said. “She'll turn eighteen. Old enough to go.”

Peggy nodded.
Another friend to worry about.

Isabel looked sad. “It's the seventh today? We have only four weeks left, and then…”

She stopped talking, but Peggy guessed she was wondering what to do with her life after she got home.

Although Peggy would be sorry to leave here too, she looked forward to her last year in high school. She'd be a senior, with new clothes and a pretty tan. She was sure she'd grown an inch taller too.

Helene was telling Isabel, “You're such a good cook. Your family will appreciate that when you get home.”

Isabel sighed and shook her head. “My mother will never share her kitchen.”

“There must be somewhere else you can use your talent. I think there's a school in Guelph that teaches cooking and homemaking.”

Typical Helene,
thought Peggy. Always seeing education as the answer. It worried her. She knew how desperately Helene wanted to finish grade thirteen. She wanted to spend their last year of high school with her best friend, but the news from home wasn't getting better. Helene's mother had a new boarder, more rent. But then a water pipe burst and the plumber's bill had used up most of August's bank payment. Helene's mother was working extra shifts at Firestone. Ever since she'd found out, Helene filled baskets of fruit at a ferocious rate.

“You're looking too serious today,” said Helene as they neared Linton's Drug Store. “Are you all right?”

Peggy smiled. “I'm fine, just thinking too much.”

Helene avoided an obvious joke, and squeezed Peggy's hand instead. She paused, then opened the door to the drug store. Dan waited, a silly grin on his face.

The seats were filled with Saturday shoppers, and a table of farmerettes. Kate waved and Binxie moved over to make room. Peggy and Isabel slid in beside her and Helene joined Dan at the counter.

Soon everyone was savoring cold, sweet sundaes and talking.

In a brief lull in the conversation, the words behind them sounded loud. “Why, that's crazier than Old Nelly!”

Peggy and Binxie looked at each other, then turned to see two old women—Granny Grant and a farmwife with fluffy white hair—gossiping over ice cream.

“You knew Nelly?” asked Peggy. Excitement raised her voice a pitch.

Granny Grant squinted at her through thick glasses and spoke in a hoarse voice. “You're the girls who work for my son?”

“Yes,” answered Binxie. “He's kind to us.”

“You're hard workers. He likes the lot of you.” She faced her companion. “Irma, these are Hiram's farmerettes.”

Irma smiled at them through a mouthful of ice cream.

“Thank you. Pleased to meet you both,” said Peggy. Did you say you knew Miss Nelly Turner?” Maybe, finally, they'd get a clue.

“Sat behind her in church for years,” Mrs. Grant said. “Her family always sat in the second row. She never said more than a frosty hello to me.” She ate another spoonful of ice cream and continued. “Too snooty to talk to us farm girls.”

Irma added, “Lot of good those airs did her. She ended her life bitter and alone, her suitcase packed for a beau who never came.”

Irma seemed to enjoy giving information to fresh ears. “Her best friend was that white horse she rode everywhere. Her brothers married and moved away, her parents passed on, even the horse eventually died. She lived alone for the rest of her days.”

Not to be outdone, Mrs. Grant added, “She was friendly with a hired girl awhile, until they had a falling out and she fired her. Nelly went to Philadelphia after that and came back more stuck-up than ever.”

Philadelphia! Peggy almost jumped out of her seat. “When did she go there?”

Irma and Mrs. Grant looked at each other, their eyes squinted in calculations.

“She wasn't here when the Great War ended. Must have been around then,” said Irma.

“She was back here for the Christmas service. Wore a fancy blue dress and a new hairstyle,” said Mrs. Grant.

Irma continued, “She got crankier and crazier every year—stopped going to church, wouldn't take help from anyone except Mrs. McDonnell and Reverend Ralston.”

“That's sad,” said Binxie. “Who was the hired girl?”

Mrs. Grant shrugged. “Her family had so many over the years. Girls from away, or sometimes the orphanage. They'd stay a year or two, then move on to better jobs in the city. A couple of them married local boys. Oh, who were they, Irma?”

“I think there was a Hetty, an Annie, a Mary or two, that saucy little Vaunie. Oh, and Jane Freeman, lives in Beamsville now. Can't remember any more. My mind's still sharp but my memory's faded some.”

Peggy was disappointed. She'd so hoped to hear Polly.

“Why are you interested?” asked Mrs. Grant.

“Oh, we love local history,” said Binxie. “We've heard some Nelly stories and we wondered how true they were.”

“Well, some have gotten out of hand, but you can believe a lot of them. I know the one about the tablecloths is true. I was in Jackman's one January when she stood there, insisting on a round one, the exact same size as last year's. It had to be dark. She kicked up a real fuss to get what she wanted. Whoever heard of buying a new tablecloth every year?”

“If you like our history,” interrupted Mrs. Grant, “you should learn about the Smiths, the Beldings, and the Puddicombes. Now, they're interesting. So's the story of how our town was named for Winona, the Indian Princess. She jumped over the falls rather than marry a suitor she didn't love.”

For the next half hour the women told stories of local history in minute detail. When Helene finally came over to say it was time to go, the girls smiled with relief and thanked the two old women.

“That was fun,” said Irma. “Next time we see you, we'll tell you more.”

You're sweet,
thought Peggy,
but next time I see you, I'll hide.
She was frustrated. Somewhere in all those tales was a clue. They just had to figure out what it was.

“I'm sure one of the hired girls was Polly,” said Peggy as they headed out of town.

“But a hired girl wouldn't have left her love letters in her old employer's home,” said Binxie. “That Philadelphia visit. It still looks like those letters, that poor baby, were Nelly's.”

“How could they be? You read the letters, saw the love poems—Polly sounded sweet.”

The girls debated until they ran out of theories. Then they moved on to other topics, enjoying the sunshine and each other's company. Life was good on a farm in Canada.

Tuesday, August 10, 1943

Helene

Helene smiled at Mrs. Fraser. “Thank you again,” she said. “Those fruits and vegetables will mean everything to my family. I don't know how to ever repay you.”

“Nonsense. It's a plentiful harvest this year—more than I need. I'm driving into Hamilton tomorrow anyway.”

Helene said good-bye and climbed into Dan's truck. As they drove away, she waved at the proud silver-haired woman standing in her yard. She turned to Dan and said, “She's wonderful.”

“That's Mrs. Fraser. Mind bright as a diamond, tongue sharp as steel, and a heart of gold.”

“A jewel. You really care for her.”

“She's looked out for me ever since I fell through the ice on her pond when I was nine. After my mom died, she became my second family, even wrote to me overseas. I'd rather be with her than at home.”

Helene thought how much she enjoyed spending time with Willy and Peter, of her mother's quiet love and support. She couldn't imagine not wanting to be with family, and her heart ached for Dan.

He continued, “My mother was gentle, kind. She taught us to read and sing and appreciate nature. When she died, the light left our house. Dad got grumpier; eventually both Paul and I enlisted.”

“Paul?”

“My other brother. He's fighting in Africa. There are four of us.”

“You're all as gruff at home as in the fields?”

Dan tried to smile but his lips pinched into a line. “Dad's lonely, unhappy. My brothers are decent fellows. They went overboard teasing you when they knew I was soft on you.”

Helene couldn't help smiling inside. His words took the pain out of the water incident in the orchard. “Both our fathers have disappointed us,” she said wistfully.

“At least yours left,” Dan said. His low tone couldn't mask the bitterness. “Mine stayed, criticizing every little mistake, beating me for big ones, until I grew too tall. Since Mom died, I'm not comfortable at the farm, but where do I go? Who'll hire a limping man whose right arm is close to useless?”

“What about something else?”

“Leave the farm? It's in my blood.” He thought a moment. “Actually, it's the land I love. I plan to own some one day. But I don't want to farm full time. I'm saving for university. When I heard you talk to Mrs. Fraser about teaching young people, I realized I'd like that too—if I had the education, the money.” Dan stepped on the brake as a rabbit hopped across the road. He shook his head as if he had just woken up. “I'm sorry. That was a pathetic display of self-pity.”

Helene stayed quiet. She'd never heard him so discouraged.

“I'll take you home, Helene. I'm not pleasant company today.”

“Why today?” she asked gently.

He hesitated. “August tenth. Four years since my mother passed away.”

His melancholy left no space in the truck for words, so she held his hand. After a silent mile, she suggested, “Do you want to visit her?”

“Will you come with me?”

She nodded.

Soon Dan turned down a narrow gravel road. On the left stood orchards full of goldenrod and ripening peach trees. On the right a low stone wall enclosed a “stone orchard” lined with graves. He parked the truck by the side of the road. Without a word, Helene slid from the seat, picked some wildflowers, and joined Dan through the wooden gates. He took her hand as they walked along the rows. They stopped at a small granite stone marked simply
Mary Patience Scranton, beloved wife and mother. February 8, 1895–August 10, 1939
. Underneath that, Alfred Scranton's name was already engraved, ready to join his wife.

Dan knelt to lay the flowers on his mother's grave, then stood upright, head bowed, deep in memories.

Helene looked at his mother's name again. Something about the “M” and the “P” so close together made her think of Peggy or Margarete, as the other girls had discovered recently. Margarete to Peggy—
M
to
P
. Weren't girls named Mary sometimes called Polly? So far all their Pollys had come to a dead end. Should they be looking for a Mary?

The thought almost overwhelmed her. The search had widened—perhaps too far—Mary was a common name. But maybe now they'd find the girl who owned those long-lost letters.